


Strawberry Picking with Dirk and Jake

by Arawr



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, I keep writing fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arawr/pseuds/Arawr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk and Jake spend the day at a nearby strawberry picking farm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Picking with Dirk and Jake

The sun is streaming down from overhead when you and Dirk pull into Skaia Farms just past midday. Your forest green jeep kicks up clouds of dust that are just as easily blown away by the gentle breeze. Dirk slips out of the vehicle smoothly, his movements fluid as he overlooks the militant rows of fresh produce more or less ripe for the picking. A small booth sits on the border of the parking lot and the open field, the wooden sign painted with a cheerful greeting and a list of prices for varying services provided by the kindly proprietors. You breathe in a deep breath, taking in the sweet, rural air. Today will definitely be one for the books, if you do say so!

                “Ready to go, old boy?” you question Dirk, slamming the driver’s door shut. You glance over at your handsome beau, his high cheekbones and straight nose giving him what you like to call ‘the most noble of appearances’. Dirk mostly scoffs in an embarrassed fashion when you say it, mumbling something along the lines of, ‘You’re quite a looker yourself, English.’ But then he kisses you or you kiss him, and you suppose that whether or not he realizes that he’s devilishly attractive doesn’t really matter at that precise moment.

The movement of Dirk’s head as he turns to look at you flings you back to the present, his face splitting into a warm, private smile.

“Let’s do it, English.”

\--

                The pair of you pay the delightfully exuberant young lady at the booth the adequate price for self-picking, and she hands Dirk a fairly large cardboard box with which to hold your literal sweet loot. Dirk grips your hand in his as you walk through the neat rows, his palm warm through the worn leather of his glove as he leads you to a less populated part of the field.

                “This seems like a good place to start,” Dirk decides, stooping to reach the lush red berries. You follow his lead, crouching down next to him and picking the fruit free of its trappings and setting it into the cardboard box.

                “So Dirk, why did you want to come out here today to pick these sun-sweetened treats? Not that I’m complaining.” You’re curious, to say the least. Dirk tends to avoid too much sunlight, and a good hour of berry picking seems like quite the opposite to you. Dirk smirks, side-eyeing you from behind his shades. He leans over then, his right hand resting on your knee for balance.

                “It’s a surprise, but I promise you’ll enjoy it,” he purrs into your ear, leaving the ghost of a kiss along the shell as he pulls away, smug. You lose your balance, falling from your careful crouched position into the soft, well-tended dirt. Your grandmother would be pleased with its condition, you idly think to yourself, before your brain clicks back to what Dirk just said.

                “Gosh Strider, but you sure do know how to leave a man hanging,” you clear your throat, and great Caesar’s ghost, has your face always felt this warm?

                Dirk is still looking like the cat that got the canary when he stands and offers his hand to you (he’s really a standup fellow no matter which way you cut it), his smirk widening a little. You’re fairly certain that smirk reaches his eyes, but his nearly permanent eye wear prevents you from knowing for sure.

                “C’mon Jake, we don’t have nearly enough strawberries yet. Grab the box while you’re down there?” His words have a kind lilt to them and you take his proffered hand, slinging the box of strawberries under your left arm.

The bottom of the box is filled, at least. You muse about the various possibilities one could accomplish with a box full of succulent strawberries, and you’re afraid to say that many of the thoughts you conjure up wouldn’t be appropriate to speak of around the children you see picking strawberries with their parents a few rows down.  You very nearly stumble into Dirk when you finally take note of your surroundings, breathing out an apology as you crouch down next to him, plucking more strawberries and putting them in the box.

You’re fairly certain the blush has reached your ears when Dirk says, “I wonder what’s on your mind that’s distracting you so much. Care to share with the class, Jake?”

“P-Pies,” you stutter out, and you’re a little proud that it happened to be something from the more gentlemanly part of your brain. Dirk raises an eyebrow over his shades, and you’re not sure if he’s impressed or entertained. Probably the latter.

“That’s pretty cool, bro, but I was thinking more along the lines of whipped cream.” His clever fingers are as steady as his voice, as if he’s talking about the bleeding weather and not what may or may not be involved with your surprise later. He continues, and you try your hardest to not resemble the strawberries in coloration.

“There’s nothing quite like licking whipped cream off of one’s skin. I can only imagine it would be at least ten times better with freshly picked strawberries to go along with it. What do you think, Jake? Care to lick whipped cream off of me?”

You try to hide your interested shudder at the thought behind a well-timed cough. You’re certain Dirk saw it anyway.

                “Or maybe you should be the one covered in cream. It would contrast with your skin quite nicely, I think. That way I’d be sure not to miss a spot as I lick you clean.”

                “Devilfucking dickens, Strider,” you manage to gasp out. That’s one mental image you won’t be forgetting any time soon.

                “And I didn’t even get into the chocolate covered strawberries. Just imagine dragging those through the whipped cream all over your body.”  Dirk picks the last of the strawberries near you, his smirk having grown into a positively wicked grin as he takes in your no doubt flustered appearance.

                By this point, you’ve just about had it with Dirk’s tomfoolery. That, and you’re fairly certain that he’s trying to get you riled up on his smooth words for some sort of clever machination. Dirk’s always so very clever with the things he does, and your adventurer’s training is warning you of some sort of trap…if only you could gauge just what it is Dirk is after.

                “Now Strider,” you begin, “I’m not quite caught up on the reasoning behind this verbal assault directed toward my delicate sensibilities,” Dirk snorts, moving down the row to a new section of unpicked berries, but he turns his head to assure you he’s still listening. “But I’m afraid it’s going to have to stop for the time being, at the very least. I do believe we should restrain our more--” a clearing of the throat—“ _animalistic_ tendencies whilst there are young’uns about, wouldn’t you say?”

                Dirk takes a moment to glance around the open field, and you’re almost positive that he’s going to call you on your bluff when the only children nearby are out of earshot. To your surprise, however, he grips your hand, smiling that charming smile that lights up his eyes (ah, how you wish you could stare into those orange depths at this moment).

                “Well, the box is full anyway, so I think we’re done here,” Dirk informs you. You glance down at the box in your arms—it’s only about half full.

                “What—“

                “C’mon Jake, a full box is a full box. We don’t want to waste any more time here than necessary.” He tips his dashing eye wear down and gives you a look, and you can feel the heat smoldering in his gaze. Jiminy Christmas, if that look doesn’t get you every time.

You’re fairly convinced it’s the hitch in your breath that triggers Dirk to steer you along and back toward your automobile, his pace a lot faster than the layman’s walk.

                “I suppose you’re right, Dirk!” you agree. The two of you are practically galloping back to the car, strawberries in hand. Your boots crunch across the gravel and dirt, and you drop your car keys in your hurry, picking them up again and settling them into the ignition when Dirk leans over the console to capture your lips in a kiss. You return it with fervor, your hand gripping tightly at the nape of his neck to feel the downy hair untouched by product there. It’s only when he pulls back a little and says “Home, James,” that you notice the plastic of the console digging painfully into your side, and the uncomfortable tightness of your trousers.

                 Today is definitely one for the books, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill a request animehead made for one of her otps to go strawberry picking. Also an excuse for me to fluff.  
> Shameless self-promotion: shocktastic.tumblr.com


End file.
